


You Bring Me Out Of The Cold

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Christmas, College Student Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Lawyer Derek Hale, M/M, New York City, coffee snob Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: When Derek turned back to the empty counter, he found it occupied by a guy who was blatantly staring at him with his mouth dropped open.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 26
Kudos: 395
Collections: 12 Days of Sterek





	You Bring Me Out Of The Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to S and E for all of the betaing help!

Derek found the Arctic Fox when he Googled for a place to grab a warm drink and find shelter away from the cold. He was already loaded down with bags and needed a break from the circus of families, kids, and tourists before he committed a public act of violence.

Why the fuck had he waited to the very last second to shop for Laura, Eric, and the kids? 

His phone buzzed inside of his jacket. He scowled. Matt. It just had to be Matt, his incessant client, who didn’t seem to understand that folks did something other than work on the Saturday before Christmas. Truthfully, if Derek didn’t have Christmas shopping to do, he probably  _ would  _ have been working, given he was a workaholic, perma-single, and didn’t like to be bored. There were only so many hours he could be in the gym or out for a run, Laura had once told him with an eye roll.

Derek took a deep breath—inhaled and exhaled carefully—like his therapist had taught him. He was frequently told he was a coffee snob by Erica, Laura, and his assistant so he might as well own it and find his reprieve in the form of a coffee shop.

Some hole-in-the-wall coffee shops might be called “rustic” or “cozy”, which is what Derek had been hoping to find.

What he found was something else entirely.

The Arctic Fox was nestled on the Lower East Side near Chinatown. The façade was artfully graffitied and looked smaller than the first Queens apartment Derek and Laura had shared after moving to New York City. It looked like a fucking dump. Stepping inside, it proved to be about the size of a closet. 

There was a small counter that morphed into a small bar on its far edge with even smaller stools, but the space was steeped in the smell of dark roast. He was the only customer, thankfully, since there was a headache building at his temples. The noises of others would be sure to echo in the enclosed space and make it worse. 

The reviews of his favorite coffee shop app promised this was a good place. He kept the app hidden in a folder on his iPhone where Laura, hopefully, would never find it. There was little doubt in his mind that she would make fun of him. 

It was only a mild obsession. 

Derek trusted the app more than most people, so he carried on, and dumped his bags on one of the stools at the end of the coffee counter where he could keep an eye on them as he ordered. One of the bags flopped off the seat and onto the floor. It was a small miracle its contents didn’t spill. Still, Derek cursed and bent down to grab it, being sure to situate it more firmly on the stool. 

When Derek turned back to the empty counter, he found it occupied by a guy who was blatantly staring at him with his mouth dropped open. The name tag affixed to his purple t-shirt read “Stiles.”

Maybe Derek was more out of shape than he realized, because he felt winded. The guy—Stiles—was all pale skin that contrasted with his chaotically tousled brown hair and warm honey eyes.

A loud honking from outside startled Derek, pulling him from his trance. 

“Coffee,” Derek said, immediately cursing himself for how terse and idiotic he sounded. He reached into his parka and yanked out his wallet to do something with his hands. Moving to the counter in front of Stiles, Derek saw from up close he was dangerously gorgeous, but a bit haggard—cheekbones that stood out a bit too much, sharp collar bones peeking out from underneath his too-large t-shirt, and blue-purple smudges underneath his eyes.

Stiles still hadn’t shut his mouth, which was terribly distracting, and to make matters worse, the tongue he swiped across his bottom lip drew Derek's attention to a mouth that was pinker and wider than anything he'd ever seen in porn.

Not that he had time to watch any these days.

Another honk sounded from outside and this time Stiles was the one who jumped. He shook his head as if from a daze. “Coffee,” Stiles echoed, voice hoarse before he cleared his throat. 

"Black," Stiles said. Suddenly, he was a whirl of activity, grabbing a coffee mug and spinning around to his machines. He only stopped to look back at Derek, squinting at him with stern concentration. "You look like you'd be a black coffee man."

Derek wanted to ask what gave him that impression, but he decided it best not to know. He knew how he came across, angry demeanor and harsh eyebrows and cutting edges. “Black,” he confirmed.

“Are you planning to stay?” Stiles’ voice was smooth and welcoming. After a lengthy pause, Stiles nodded and said, “I do a mean pourover of our latest dark roast blend from Colombia. It’s delicious and full and has these chocolate notes and—” Stiles cleared his throat. “If that helps to tempt you.” Stiles’ mouth quirked as he continued to nod as if prompting Derek to join along.

The fervency with which Derek wanted to stay unsettled him, and he knew he should have said no, but found himself nodding along with Stiles. The smile he received was brilliant and he followed Stiles over to the register, where he was rung up and told to sit. 

Derek should have been catching up with the news on his phone or looking at his work email. Instead, he was transfixed by watching Stiles work. He was lithe and a bundle of frenetic energy as he moved around the small space. And his  _ hands _ . 

Fuck, Derek was in so much trouble. 

Removing his beanie, Derek rubbed his hands through his hair, hoping he didn’t appear as disheveled as he looked. Not that he cared what Stiles thought of how he looked. Stiles looked at least 10 years younger than him. Derek was, as Erica always fondly called him, a grouchy workaholic old bitch.

When he looked up from where he’d put his face in his hands, Stiles was watching him with a small smile and his head cocked at an angle. His gaze was intense, a little too observant, which both made Derek want to hide and share more of himself, simultaneously. A foreign feeling to say the least. 

“Long day?”

Derek snorted. “Long year.”

Stiles laughed and it reverberated through the room. Warmth bloomed in Derek’s belly in response. Jesus, Derek was reacting like a twitterpated 14-year-old. 

Once the pourover was brewing, the smell of fresh coffee unwound some of the knots that had taken up residence in Derek’s shoulders. He shuffled around enough to remove his parka. As he got comfortable in his seat and removed the phone from his coat’s pocket, he felt Stiles’ gaze on him again. It was disconcerting, but in a way that was electric, that made him feel solid in his skin for the first time in, well, too long.

When Derek was settled in his stool, his phone took that as its cue to ring. God forbid Derek be comfortable. He may have growled at his phone. Just a bit.

Stiles was leaning against the counter in front of him when Derek looked up at his slight laugh. 

“Sorry, man,” Stiles said. “But I totally get it—-the death-to-all-technology glare. That’s how I feel about my laptop right now. I just finished up my last paper this morning, and instead of sleeping like the dead or getting drunk, I’m here.” Stiles made a face that nearly startled a laugh out of Derek. “Not that I don’t like my job.” He waved those long fingered hands around, and Derek wanted to catch them in his.

“That explains why you look like death warmed over,” Derek said and nearly bludgeoned his own head against the coffee counter. God, he wasn’t raised by wolves. He waited for Stiles to kick him out or spit in his coffee, but Stiles only laughed again, this time with his head flung back and that long pale column of his throat on display.

“Damn right,” Stiles said. “I’m subsisting only on caffeine.” He moved away from the counter to pour Derek’s coffee. He sat a mug down in front of Derek, and the smell of it nearly made Derek moan. Derek wrapped his hands around the circumference of the mug, watching the steam drift upwards, and brought his nose in to inhale more deeply. It was too hot to drink yet.

His phone buzzed again on the counter, and Derek grit his teeth as Matt’s name flashed across the screen.

“You look ready to annihilate your phone with your teeth,” Stiles said, tapping one of those long fingers against his chin in thought. “I assume you’re not a college student.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I look old?”

Stiles eyes widened. “Dude! No! You look gorg—” He cut himself off, an interesting blush rising to his cheeks. “Gentlemanly. A gentleman amongst gentleman.” He flailed. “Uh, professional. Businessmanish?”

Something about flustering Stiles was more fun than he’d had in a long time. Derek leaned his elbows on the counter, mug between his hands, and smirked. “Gentlemanly?”

“Shut up,” Stiles said and turned away to grab a huge glass of what appeared to be milk-laden iced coffee. He drank several gulps of it, the flush having traveled down his neck.

Derek took pity on him. “I’m a lawyer,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee carefully and holy God, it was good. He  _ did  _ make some kind of noise in appreciation this time. Hot damn. He’d been drinking whatever swill he could get ahold of, so this was like manna in the desert.

The smile lurking around Stiles’ mouth showed that he probably had some idea of how much Derek was enjoying the coffee. “A lawyer, huh?” Stiles batted his eyelashes. “I bet you  _ are  _ a gentleman.”

Derek couldn’t help laughing. Stiles was completely and utterly ridiculous. When Derek looked back up from his next sip of coffee, Stiles was even pinker and looking at Derek with a sort of wondrous expression, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. 

Derek’s phone went off again, and he snarled, turning it off entirely. 

“Someone is insistent,” Stiles said. 

“One of my clients,” Derek said. “He’s an asshole and demanding. I regret even representing him, but he’s a friend of a friend.”

“That sucks, dude.” Stiles set his glass down somewhere behind the counter and leaned forward. Their gazes met and held. “I haven’t been able to go anywhere without my ex calling me. He’s such an asshole.”

Derek was petty enough to admit he was happy to hear both the “he” and the “ex.”

“Rough breakup?”

Stiles groaned. “The worst. Jordan was an absolute dick. He’s older than me and didn’t understand why I was always so busy with school and work. He thought people’s days ended when they were done with work or school. He accused me of cheating.”

Derek would usually be put off by learning so much about a stranger so quickly, favoring keeping private details private, but he found himself listening raptly as Stiles went on a rant about Jordan, who indeed sounded like an utter asshole.

“Once he figured out I was busy because I was—I don’t know, _ double majoring and working almost full time _ —” Stiles rolled his eyes with his whole body “—and that I was only busy and not cheating on him, he’s been incessant in trying to win me back.”

Derek frowned, gripping his mug almost too tightly. “Has he been stalking you? Has he threatened to hurt you? Has he still been bothering you? Has he—” His voice grew more intense with each question.

“Whoa!” Stiles said, and then one of Stiles’ hands was on his and Derek stopped, glancing up at Stiles. The moment was taut, everything dropping away, except Stiles’ warm eyes and furrowed brows. “He’s still been calling some, but I think he’s starting to get the picture. Especially after I threatened to involve my dad.” At Derek’s raised eyebrow, Stiles elaborated, “He’s the Sheriff of the small county in California where I’m from.”

Derek was still staring at Stiles and could still feel his skin was tingling where Stiles’ hand was resting against atop his. This was some crazy romcom level bullshit, and Derek wasn’t sure if he hated it or loved it. “I’m glad,” Derek said, staring into those eyes, with their dilated pupils and framed with ridiculous eyelashes.

Stiles’ Adam’s apple bobbed and he visibly shook himself. He glanced down at Derek’s mug. “Would you like another cup?” he asked, though he was already taking it and backing away, speaking quickly. “I can make you a new blend we’re not supposed to use until after Christmas, but I’ll make it special for you.” He winked over his shoulder, and Derek wasn’t sure whether to curse his half-hard dick or the heat he felt in his ears and neck. 

Derek smirked. “Special for me?” 

Stiles laughed. “You’re a menace.” He turned away to gather new beans from a low cabinet and start on another coffee for Derek. In the flurry of activity, he gave Derek a small glass of sparkling water.

As Stiles ground the beans, Derek backtracked to their conversation, which Derek had heard but hadn’t yet registered. Derek sat up straighter.

“You’re from a small town in California?” he asked. 

“Yup! I moved here to go to NYU.” Stiles’ hands moved as he expertly poured water over the beans he’d ground.

“I’m from California, too,” Derek found himself offering, which was strange. He wasn’t one to offer information about himself to anyone, let alone strangers, but nothing about Stiles had been ordinary at all. 

“Oh?” Stiles asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Yeah, a small town called Beacon Hills. It’s over an hour north of San Francisco.”

Stiles nearly dropped the mug he was getting out. His mouth was wide open again. “You’re shitting me.”

Derek did laugh this time at the outrage in Stiles’ voice, in his utterly poleaxed expression. “Nope.” 

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked. “Why don’t I know you? Surely I would have remembered you.”

“Derek.” Derek clenched his teeth before revealing his last name and all it would entail to a Beacon Hills native. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles stared at him with wide eyes. Derek was waiting for the _ I’m sorry _ and maybe a question about the fire. Instead, Stiles said, “My dad is John Stilinski.”

The sheriff, Derek recalled. The man who had helped them put Kate behind bars after she set his house on fire, all in revenge for Derek ending their hook-ups. 

“He’s a good man,” Derek said, appreciative for the lack of questions. Surely Stiles had to know about the fire and the resulting death of his family, given that his dad was sheriff and he’d grown up in Beacon Hills. 

Stiles smiled, a private genuine thing. “He is.” With the heavy moment gone, Stiles began to pour the new coffee, and the smell this time was even better, somehow, than the last batch. 

“Is he visiting for Christmas?” Derek asked as the new mug was set down in front of him and Stiles had poured a bit of the coffee into a mug for himself, taking a delicate sip that had his nose scrunching up in the most adorable way.

Adorable? Jesus, he was certainly not 33, nor 14: he was 12.

Stiles’ smile had faded. “Nah,” Stiles said. “I just finished up with an extended deadline for my last paper, and booking a flight slipped from my mind and by the time I looked, they were just too expensive.” He shook his head. “Evil money gouging fuckers.”

“That sucks,” Derek said, feeling like he needed to say something at the look on Stiles’ face. 

“Yeah, it will be my first Christmas away from home.”

Stiles was looking so sad at his coffee, the brightness in his eyes diminished; he looked so tired and thin and his purple t-shirt had a hole along the collar. 

Derek didn’t know what possessed him, but he found himself asking, “Do you have Christmas plans for tomorrow?”

Stiles’ gaze shot up at an alarming speed. He was silent for a moment. “No,” he said slowly. Paused. Picked up his mug to take a sip, put it back down without drinking from it at all.

Derek took a tentative sip of his new coffee, eyelashes fluttering closed. God, Stiles made a mean cup of coffee. He wanted to keep him, he realized, and not just for the coffee.

Stiles was alarmingly bright and vivacious but cutting. He seemed hardworking and loyal, but young. He stirred things in Derek that he had never felt. Derek tried to figure out how to share his latest proposition without sounding like a creep.

Something crossed Stiles’ face and he brightened again. “Are you inviting me to Christmas?”

Derek blushed, ducked his head, “I know it sounds creepy.” He coughed. “But you shouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone, away from your dad, in this fucking city, and—”

Stiles’ fingertips traced against his chin, a small pressure on his perpetual scruff. “It sounds lovely,” Stiles said, smiling. He hadn’t moved his fingertips. Derek’s gaze caught his. “To be honest, you’re lovely.”

Derek’s sure he turned a shade of red to rival a ripe tomato. 

When he drifted forward, their lips met. The kiss was chaste and warm, with the shared lush-bitterness of coffee between them, and Stiles moaned into his mouth. “Derek,” he said, pulling away a hair's breadth. 

“Yeah,” Derek said, breathless.

“You just knocked over all of your presents.”

“I don’t care,” Derek said and kissed Stiles again, thinking of how anyone could walk into the coffee shop right now, thinking that Stiles was 10 years younger than him at least, and that Laura was either going to maim him for inviting over a stranger, or tease him mercilessly for years.

The back of Derek’s hand caught at the nape of Stiles’ neck, bringing him closer, and deepening the kiss when Stiles opened up for him.

Fuck it. Derek didn’t care. He smiled into the kiss, and felt whole.


End file.
